One of the options in the BCP in the Prayers of the People is this phase: “this fragile earth, our island home.” I bet every church chose to pray that option this morning.

And what is more fragile than a tiny island out in the middle of nowhere?

Briefly, I had the privilege of having a half-acre, mature, Hawaiian garden on Maui where I worked most days before walking down to the beach to swim. I often thought “that water is the color of my soul.” I couldn’t bring the water with me, but I still have a bowl of the sand from that beach.

I remember when the word ” holocaust” could be spelled with a lower-case H and refer to any conflagration.  That is the only word that comes to my mind today when I think about that beautiful paradise that was my island home for a very short time. 

”  .  .  . and all things came to be: the vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth, our island home.”